


Snapshots

by cageforbird



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Affection, Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cageforbird/pseuds/cageforbird
Summary: Short private moments between Thomas and Richard.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	1. a gift for a future

**Author's Note:**

> I was posting these in tumblr, but I was told I should archive them here as well.   
> So here we are.

Thomas’s giddiness was an entity of its own by now. The events of the night before passed through his eyes as he walked the five steps from his desk to stand in front of Richard. 

Everything happened so fast. He didn’t expect the kiss when the door was open. Anyone could pass and catch them kissing. There they were though, Richard’s warm hand on his cheek, soft lips brushing against his, and for few precious moments, time stopped. Insecurity gone, there was no time for worry, his hand on Richard’s hair, his palm touching the sensitive skin of Richard’s neck.

Andy’s calling separated them, both jumped back, lips wet, wide and red, eyes watery, heart pounding in their chests. 

Richard hadn’t planned it, he might have fantasised it all night but he hadn’t planned to jump on Thomas the moment he saw him. It was the bashful hopefulness and the shy beauty that made him impulsive. He wanted more, more of the sweet, tea and scone tasting lips.

He pulled his keyring from his pocket as a token for the next time he’d get Thomas on his own.

* * *

you can find me in (yes, I'm cheesy) [Mr & Mr Ellis-Barrow in tumblr](https://messrsellisbarrow.tumblr.com/)


	2. Thomas's hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard admires Thomas’s hands

Richard admires Thomas’s hands. His fingers are long, thick but elegant. Thomas is careful with the objects he touches, he respects them and is as careful as their fragility permits.

At the same time, his hands are strong and capable of hard work and carrying heavy stuff around. He’s seen him handling a knife, a weapon, a pen, dirt or dough with the same effort and concentration. 

Richard has seen the scar on Thomas’s hand. On any other person, he might have had described it as ugly. On Thomas, though, he wants to kiss and lick and caress it gently. He’s felt the scar against his cheek when Thomas cups it gently before a kiss. Or at the nape of his neck, and he can’t imagine his lover without it. 

When Thomas’s hands trail down the sides of his torso playfully, or spread his thighs carefully, or massage his back after a tiresome day at work Richard’s world zeroes in on them and the pleasure they bring to him. 


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, there is jealousy.  
> And Chris

Thomas has no way of knowing it, and no mistake, Richard takes that into consideration, but confidence is a front. No, scratch that. Confidence isn't a character trait for Richard. He has it in some matters, such as flirting and wooing, and doesn't have it in others. Such as believing himself able to keep the affection of the man he has... well affection for.

When he sees Webster, of all people, talking with his Thomas in the bar he sees red. He wants to stroll over, grab Thomas by the shoulders and kiss him in front of all people claiming ownership. His memory isn't faulty so it reminds him of his back colliding with the hard unforgiving wall by a furious Thomas the last time his better sense was taken over by jealousy. Which had led to nice make up times with Thomas on his back, his warm hands on Richard's hips. A soppy smile appears on Richard's lips until he sees Webster leaning closer to Thomas to whisper something to him.

With two long strides he's by his- by Thomas's left side, pushing between him and Webster. Thomas's oblivious, wide eyes gaze at him for a few seconds before they squint reminding Richard of Thomas’s reputation.

A hand on his shoulder and he turns around to find Webster smiling at him. “Ellis! Long time, no see!”

“Webster,” he says in lieu of a greeting. Chris’s smile is as nice as he remembers it.

“Do you know each other?” Thomas’s accent sounds heavier.

“We go way back,” Chris chimes in before Richard has a chance to reply.

“Do you, now?” Thomas’s voice has a dangerous edge to it that sends shivers down Richard’s spine.

It’s nice to know he’s not the only one jealous.


	4. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, they long for touch.

Thomas wants to reach out, put his hands on Richard's face, hold him gently, really see him, feel the lines along his face, get to know him.

Richard wants to let him do it.

Touch makes everything real. Thomas is fond of touching, longs to touch and be touched, not necessarily in a sexual manner. He's been deprived of touching for such a long time. Only in few instances in his life he felt ashamed of his touch, but they have traumatised him. This isn't one of those times. This is the exact opposite.

They sit close, on the bed against the headboard, in their shirtsleeves and braces, ties hang around their necks. They spent hours talking, got to know each other in ways different than their first meeting in the Abbey. There's nothing frantic here, Richard's fear of rejection is lost in the end of their previous meeting, Thomas's own fear of loss a figment of his past unsuccessful attempts at companionship.

Richard seems to understand and leans forward, submitting himself to Thomas's wants and needs by resting his head on Thomas's lap. He cherishes the smile his gets in reply and then those long fingers run through his hair back and forth, again and again, hypnotisingly slow.

"If you continue this, I'll fall asleep."

The back of Thomas's fingers caress his cheek, the other hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Then sleep," and the hand returns on his hair. He lays his hand on top of Thomas's on his cheek and brings it to his mouth, kissing the inside of the palm where skin meets leather.

He keeps it there and closes his eyes.


	5. A home

It’s unjust, Richard thinks. Meeting Thomas like this, in a remote hotel.

Thomas, who looks at him as if he’s the most precious human in the world, as if Thomas cannot live without him. It’s so damn unfair they have to meet for a few scant hours in hotel room away from cruel eyes who have the power to steal even this small pleasure away from there. 

He wants to take his time, explore Thomas’s body with his hands and mouth, lavish him with kisses and caresses and have this wonderfully tactile man do the same to him. Richard is reminded of Thomas’s quiet strength as the door closes behind them and he’s pressed against the wall by the lean body. His senses zero in on Thomas, his hands go on the stubble on his prominent cheekbones, eyes admire the odd silver hairs on the dark-haired head.

Thomas whispers in his ear what he wants Richard to do to him, what he wants to do to him, big hands find their way underneath his suit jacket exploring his sides and chest.

And then Thomas’s head rests on his shoulder and the long arms wrap around him. “I’m so damn tired,” Thomas whispers brokenly.

And Richard pulls him to the bed, and wraps himself around him because this room? It’s not really theirs, -and they deserve their own home- but they are each other’s to take care of.

* * *

Inspired by Tinderstick's Rented Rooms.

_Through the doors of that rented room_   
_Yeah, we stumbled through_   
_It was only hours it seemed such a short while_   
_In those pillows all the feathers that hold all our dreams_   
_Whispered at the scene_   
_Now they just seem to float on a breeze_


	6. More than a clumsy butler, is he?

Richard is taken aback. Gone is the clumsiest adorableness only to be replaced by cheekiness and playfulness. He wonders if the man is aware of his allure. He must be aware of his good looks, but it’s more than that. There is an openness, a strange feeling of familiarity that’s been missing from his London life. Mr. Barrow invokes in him the feeling of coming home. 

Now... how to make him feel the same?

He’s got to be careful. And certain.


	7. What if things had happened differently?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... or as I call it, Richard pulling a Thomas. 
> 
> Should I warn for dub-con kiss? 
> 
> I'm just being careful here.

Richard leans against the wall waiting for Mr. Barrow to come out. He stands there, against Lord Grantham’s car collecting himself after his performance to the copper. He hates it, but he’s so good at it. Pretending, he had to to survive in the cruel world.

He hopes Barrow is worth it. 

He can’t help but feel guilty. If he hadn’t asked him out, he wouldn’t be at the pub, he wouldn’t have met with the guy who took him Turton’s. Thus he wouldn’t have been arrested.

It doesn’t mean he’s not angry with the man. 

Any doubts he had about Mr. Barrow have been evaporated in the long minutes waiting outside both the club and the police station. Suspicions confirmed, he has no idea what to do with the information now. 

Barrow emerges from the police station, looking disgruntled. He looks around, collect himself in the same way Richard did minutes before, settles his hat on his head. He looks right at Richard who waves him over, tipping his hat. He walks with slow, long strides.

He’s almost afraid. Terrified even.

He should be.

He tries not to show it.

_I'm afraid I've been a silly boy._

Here they are, Richard’s not letting Barrow pretend. He can at least save one of them of the indecency. He takes Barrow by the shoulder who stumbles to catch up to him. He pulls him to the dark side street, making certain they are alone. 

He puts his finger to his lips. 

_Shhhh… You just need to be a bit more circumspect in future, Mr Barrow._

He touches Barrow’s cheek with his gloved hand, despairing over his inability to feel the tanned skin against his naked skin. Barrow’s eyes try to follow the movement of his hand from his lips to his own face, but they snap up to look at him the moment he is touched. 

It takes a moment for Barrow to realise what is happening. It’s the moment Richard grants him before he leans over to touch his lips with his own, his eyes never leaving the grey ones. 

Barrow stiffens and doesn’t return the kiss. Richard leaves it chaste. The memory of the dark red lips against his own will last if it’s the only taste of the man he gets. The hand that doesn’t cradle Barrow’s cheek finds its way to the trembling shoulder. 

He squeezes and lets go. With difficulty.

The grey eyes watch him carefully, the stiffness disappears. A deep breath!

A smile. The first one.

Was it a memory that spooked him? 

Did Richard move too quickly?

His brain brings the many alternative ways the night can end in the forefront and the desire to push the other man against the wall is there, alive, bursting with energy.

But he sees Barrow is still shell shocked and taking advantage of that will only lead to self loathing. Richard doesn't do self loathing gracefully.

He grabs Barrow’s hand with his own. 

_Come on._

The hand in his grips him tight. 

There is hope.

Richard leads him to the car.


	8. I wish I knew you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard wishes he knew young Thomas.

Richard instinctually knows. He knows every time Thomas flinches away instead of leaning close. He knows every time Thomas raises his voice and then stops talking altogether looking like a trapped rabbit in the fox’s den.

He doesn’t know when or how or by whom, but in the end, he doesn’t care to know. Not everyone has a loving family like himself; not a father who’s willing to accept his son as he is, or maybe turn his eyes away and pretend that one day something will change with no shouts and beatings and threats.

He sometimes wishes he had met Thomas as he was as a young man, reckless and inspirational, a bite in his every word. That’s how everyone, including Thomas himself, describe him. And every time he gets a glimpse of that boy in Thomas’ words, disagreements, or caustic remarks, he’s jealous of those who had the chance to meet him.

“You’re daft,” Thomas tells him. “That’s what everyone would say to you…”

“Do you regret them? Those years?”

Has life beaten him so harshly that the man he loves is ready to dismiss his younger self so easily?

“Regret them? What do you mean?”

He kneels on the floor in front of Thomas’ chair and takes the cold hands in his. “I envy the people who knew you back then. I want to know that man as I know you.”

“You wouldn’t like me.”

“Did you like yourself?”

“What?

“If you liked yourself back then, I’d like you too.”

Thomas doesn’t know how to reply. He liked himself more than any other person in Downton Abbey. Even now, decades later he wouldn’t change anything. Anything that didn’t end up with him alone and miserable. Ending up like that didn’t mean he was wrong. 

Thomas knows well now that surviving meant changing. He was alone in a sea of others. 

Now he has Richard. And he’s not alone.

He leans down to catch Richard’s lips in a slow kiss. 

“I stand corrected. I think you’d like me just fine.”


	9. Forever

Thomas's familiarity with cold goes way back in time, when as a young boy he slept on a cot under the window. It continued with the cold winter nights in the attic and didn't stop when he was wet with blood -either soneone else's or his own- or sweat or rain in the trenches. Cold seeping through his clothes, freezing his body, moving deeper inside his bones, taking residence in his heart.

  
Even in the summer days, when he can't sleep because his room is too hot to bear it, even then, the concept of warmth is foreign. 

  
Maybe it's the warm tea.

  
Maybe it's the kids' laughter.

  
Maybe it's Mrs. Patmore's food.

  
But the dots are not connected until Richard, hand on Thomas's naked shoulder, messy hair against his pillow, looks inside his eyes and promises forever. 


	10. the kind of scar

Thomas lies half of top of Richard, half on the bed, warm puffs of air on Richard’s neck remind him he’s sleeping peacefully. Richard didn’t expect Thomas to have nightmares. He was surprised when he woke up one night to find his lover sitting on an armchair by the window wrapped in a blanket.

And why wouldn’t Thomas have nightmares?

Ever since, he has his arms around Thomas when they sleep, he knows, maybe instinctively, when his dreams turn violent. He often runs his palm on Thomas’ back, calming him down, soothing him in the hostile battlefield he finds himself. Thomas never tells what his dreams are about. Richard doesn’t need to know. He has his own terrors that often visit him in sleep, and when they do, Thomas is there, offering the same comfort Richard now gives to him. 

Richard’s hand slips underneath Thomas’ undershirt, warmth meets warmth and Thomas settles back in his arms, quiet and peaceful again. Richard’s hand is low on his back. He feels a rough spot of skin. An old wound. He rests his hand on top of it and falls back asleep, content once again. 

The next day, he sits on the bed watching Thomas getting dressed. He smiles. Thomas raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. You are a wonder to watch…”

“Hush!” and here’s the blush. Thomas’s skin is prone to blushing and Richard takes advantage of it every chance he gets. Thomas is buttoning his shirt when Richard remembers to ask. “What’s happened to your back?” 

“My back?” 

“Lower back. I noticed last night…” Richard stops when he sees that Thomas stiffens. 

“It’s nothing. I was foolish.” He says nothing more and finishes the buttons. His fingers tremble when he takes the tie, and Richard pushes up from the bed to go stand in front of him. 

He takes the tie from his fingers and passes it around Thomas’s neck, the back of his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of Thomas’s jawline as he lets the tie rest against his collarbones. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He does the tie the way he’s seen Thomas in the past, and straightens the lapels of his shirt, lips the braces over his shoulders. 

He leans to kiss Thomas’s mouth. Thomas takes his hand and pushes him on the bed. He sits next to him and starts talking in a monotone voice Richard never wants to listen to again. 

“It is stupid. I was stupid…”

He tells his story, his experience, and Richard’s stomach clenches in sympathy, in fear and in love for Thomas. 

He wraps his arms around Thomas’s shoulder, his right hand holding Thomas’s tightly. He turns and settles his head on Thomas, where neck meets shoulder, breathing his scent in, feeling his warmth. He settles their hands on Thomas’s chest just to feel the beating beneath their joint hands. 

“I love you.” 

He feels Thomas nodding slightly, touching the top of his head and he listens to him repeating the three words. 


End file.
